


get real get right

by meowcosm



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Chronic Illness, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/F, One Shot, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:54:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24789583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meowcosm/pseuds/meowcosm
Summary: god of hosts created deathfortune save me from his wrath-Perhaps Flayn can't answer Lysithea's questions. But she's happy to stay with her.After all, who better to understand the burden of secrecy?
Relationships: Flayn/Lysithea von Ordelia
Comments: 3
Kudos: 27





	get real get right

“Does the Goddess hate me, Flayn?” 

Flayn knows, really, that she should have seen this coming. Lysithea is young- Flayn isn’t sure how young, not in human terms- but she’s younger than the other students. But it doesn’t stop her from walking around with a strangely candor demeanor, nor does it stem the insecurity and fear that Flayn can sense writhing in her heart. She’d attribute it solely to the pressure of growing up too fast- whoever might have had the authority to send her to the monastery so young, Flayn considers having acted firmly against their best judgement. She would, truly, if there wasn’t a lurid, lingering fear at the back of her eyes. 

Holding the white-haired girl inside of the fishing hut, some time past midnight with the moon high in the clear winter sky, she tries to match her breathing to Lysithea’s panicked fervor. Only when their heartbeats match does Flayn place her hand on Lysithea’s shoulder, finding rest on the nape of her neck.

There’s no good answer for her question. If Flayn had one, she’d offer it without hesitation. But though she might be the most devout of believers, one of the few to witness the Goddess’s mercy and wrath in the flesh, there’s nothing to say that isn’t a half truth.  _ Which _ , she tells herself,  _ is no better than a lie _ . 

Admittedly, Flayn knows little about Lysithea. But she knows that she deserves better than lies, even comforting ones. 

Instead of speaking, Flayn slides her forefinger along Lysithea’s right shoulder blade. It brushes against the soft, thick tresses of Lysithea’s hair, reminding Flayn of the way a fish moves through water. In each smooth motion, her heart rate drops ever so slightly. Flayn isn’t able to bring her to a resting pace, but she hovers slightly over it. 

_ That’s enough _ , she tells herself. 

“I don’t think the Goddess hates.” Flayn murmurs, still pressed against Lysithea’s back. “I don’t think she hates good people, at least.” As she says it, it nearly stuns her, how close it is to the soothing words Seteth had once whispered to her after the loss of her mother. 

It  _ had _ helped. Flayn doesn’t know if it will. 

Lysithea turns to Flayn, eyes welling with tears. The grief on her face is almost enough for Flayn to weep in tandem. 

“Did I do something wrong?”

Flayn doesn’t know that. She doubts it, though. Lysithea might be all barbed edges and mystery; but she hardly seems capable of deliberate cruelty. Not worthy of the Goddess’s wrath, certainly. 

“No. And even if you did, the Goddess would forgive you. So long as you came to her with an open heart.”

Suddenly, Flayn feels a sharp pain shoot through her scalp. It’s not a violent hurt, but it jolts her, nearly sending her crashing into a wooden fishing-rod stand. Only after she recovers from her instinctual blink of pain does she feel Lysithea’s hand wrapped around a loose strand of her hair, returning her own touch in a tense and troubled fashion. 

“I’m sick, Flayn.”

In silent acknowledgement, she nods. Her finger skirts from Lysithea’s shoulder to her cheek, wiping away stray tears still falling from her face.

“I thought I was going to die.”   
  
“I’m sorry.” Flayn isn’t sure what she’s apologizing for; but it feels like the right thing to do. The terse comfort makes Lysithea clutch harder, more insistent.”

“Don’t tell me you’re sorry.” Her voice is too exhausted to be bitter; but it still carries a sour edge. Despite it, Flayn doesn’t draw away. “I need you to stay with me.”

None of this is what Flayn had planned for the night. But in the moment she heard ragged gasps from the fishing shed, she’d known there was nothing to be done. 

It escapes her, the nature of Lysithea’s illness. But, just perhaps, she might be able to heal her. 

“Of course. But you’ll have to promise me I can take you to Professor Manuela if you’re unwell.”

Silent for the first time, Lysithea’s weeping pauses. Weakly, she nods, and Flayn cups her face in her hands. 

“You’ll be fine, Lysithea. It doesn’t matter what the goddess thinks.”

_ What father might do _ , Flayn ponders,  _ if he heard me say such a thing _ .

_ But he’s not here. Not right now _ . 

“I’ll take care of you.”

-

Just as Flayn promised, they’re together throughout the night. It doesn’t take Lysithea long to fall asleep- Flayn supposes she must be exhausted, the effects of her illness compounded with the exertion of sobbing for so long and so harshly. When she does, and after Flayn has checked to make fully sure that her body doesn’t threaten to give out underneath what strains it, Flayn draws her close. Tries to make herself a shield against the cold, which encroaches even in the unseasonal warmth. Truthfully, she’s not sure if it works. But to feel Lysithea against her, still fighting, still winning, gives her fresh confidence. 

It’s soothing, even. Soothing enough that Flayn soon finds herself asleep, too, still pressed against Lysithea’s frame. 

-

In the morning, at what Flayn estimates must be two hours or so gone sunrise, she wakes up to an empty building. There’s no Lysithea, nor has anyone else intruded. The only remnants of her presence are long strands of white hair, hair that Flayn knows she’ll have to brush out of her uniform before she returns to her and Seteth’s quarters. That, and a note, tucked under the heel of Flayn’s left shoe.

She picks it up; it takes a moment for her to read it, eyes blinking away the new sunlight. When she’s ready to parse it, Flayn starts at the beginning, each letter a careful thought in her mind. 

“ _ Don’t tell anyone I was here. Or what happened. And if other people find out what I told you, I’ll know it was you, because you’re the first one _ .”

Flayn grimaces on instinct at the words; after everything, the last thing she wants is to be regarded as a tattletale. She has her own secrets to keep- the importance of information is not lost on her, not at all. 

Still, she understands. Especially when she sees the last line of the note, scrawled hastily on the end, dotted with jostled blots of ink. 

“ _ Thank you. _

  
_ \- Lysithea. _ ”

**Author's Note:**

> ty for reading!
> 
> i'm @meowcosm on twitter, kudos and comments are appreciated


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